The Enigma that was Her
by I'mfriendswiththemonster
Summary: Sherlock has returned from the dead, but what has changed? What is the mysterious Operation Phoenix? What is Mycroft hiding from him? Very eventual Sherlock/OC
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I hope you enjoy this story, this chapter is only a teaser, we will see more of my OC next chapter ;-)**

**Disclaimer - I don't own anything except my OC**

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Chapter One - Operation Pheonix?

A man ran through the Serbian forest, his long straggly hair flowing behind him as he stumbled through the undergrowth, desperate to escape. The helicopter above him circled around the dense trees, searching for him as he ran through the trees below.

The infrared camera picked up a glow of red in amongst the blue and green, and the radio crackled to life, ordering the heavily armed squad on the ground to close in on the mysterious man.

In a blur of green leaves and black uniforms, the man was surrounded by menacing men, all with rifles. Knowing the chase was up, he slumped down on the ground, exhausted.

**Someplace in Serbia**

Music blared out of the headphones and into the guardsman's ears, stopping him from hearing the sounds of the man being tortured, that they had brought in three hours previously. They had been interrogating him for nearly an hour, but the sound of the prisoner being beaten could only be heard by the two people sitting in the room.

Inside the filthy room, the man was shackled to the walls opposite him, forcing him upright, while he was repeatedly struck by one of the men. The other man kept his hood up and sat watching the scene, his face hidden by the many hats and and scarfs he was using to keep himself warm.

Turning to look at the prisoner, the torturer spoke in Serbian, "You broke in here for a reason." He chose a large metal pipe as his next weapon and approached the prisoner again. "Just tell us why and you can sleep. Remember sleep?"

Just as he was about to strike the man on the shoulder again, the prisoner whispered something. Stopping in shock, the torturer lowered the pipe. "What?" He grabbed the man by the hair and lifted his head up to his ear, where the prisoner still continued to whisper.

The man in the corner sat up a little and asked in Serbian, "Well? What did he say?"

The torturer straightened up and released the prisoner's head, a stunned expression on his face. "He said that I used to work in the navy, where I had an unhappy love affair, that the electricity isn't working in my bathroom; and that my wife is sleeping with our next door neighbour!"

After reaching down for another whisper, the torturer's head snapped up. "The coffin maker!"

The prisoner whispered again. "...and..."

The torturer was outraged. "If I go home now, I'll catch them at it! I knew it! I knew there was something going on!"

He ran from the room, forgetting about the prisoner he was supposed to be interrogating, more worried about his wife's betrayal.

The other soldier faced the prisoner and, still speaking in Serbian, said, "So, my friend. Now it's just you and me." He took his feet off the table and slowly stood up.

"You have no idea the trouble it took to find you."

The prisoner showed no signs of responding, so the soldier walked across the room and grabbed a handful of the prisoner's hair. Bending down to whisper in his ear, the soldier spoke, this time in English, all traces of a Serbian accent gone, "Now listen to me. There's an underground terrorist network active in London and a massive attack is imminent. Sorry, but the holiday is over, brother dear."

He released the clump of hair he had hold of and stepped back. "Back to Baker Street, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock just smirked through his hair.

**Baker Street**

John crossed the road and made his way towards the house that he hadn't stepped foot in for nearly two years.

Two boys walked past, pushing a pushchair. Inside was an orange balloon, with a face drawn in it in felt tip pen.

They called out to John, who was still hesitating at the door of his old address. "Penny for the guy?"

John rolled his eyes at the old bonfire night tradition, and, finally plucking up his courage, unlocked the door and stepped through the threshold.

After making his way down the hall, he stopped in front of Mrs Hudson's door. Taking a deep breath, he went to knock, but was assaulted with the sound of Sherlock playing the violin. His head whipped round to look at the stairs above him, but realised it was a figment of his mind when he heard part of a conversation he and Sherlock had had a long time ago replay in his head.

"That was the most ridiculous thing I've ever done."

"And you invaded Afghanistan!" His friend's sarcastic tone ringing in his ears.

The violin faded from his mind when Mrs Hudson opened her door, about to leave her flat, and noticed John. He gave a slight wave, cleared his throat, and walked into her flat.

**Mycroft's Office**

Mycroft Holmes sat reading his usual newspaper, his mind in turmoil about what he had done. Sherlock would argue that he needed him back to solve a case, he reasoned. He wouldn't put it past Sherlock to think that he was a vital part to Britain. Quite the contrary now, they had sorted out the gap Sherlock had left two years previously. They had already replaced him. He had only brought Sherlock back, because... Well... He had missed him. The arguments they had, sibling rivalry. He would never admit to Sherlock the real reason he had searched him out and brought him back, he would gladly die first.

With a sigh, he closed the newspaper and placed it on the desk full of files in front of him. "You have been busy, haven't you?"

Sherlock lay flat on the barber's chair, while a man shaved his face. His newly washed and cut hair was still wet.

"Quite the busy little bee." Mycroft chuckled.

"Moriarty's network – took me two years to dismantle it." Sherlock explained.

"And you're confident you have?"

Sherlock nearly rolled his eyes. "The Serbian side was the last piece of the puzzle."

"Yes. You got yourself in deep there..." Mycroft checked one of the many files spread around him. "...with Baron Maupertuis. Quite a scheme."

For his brother's standards that was nearly a compliment for Sherlock. "Colossal."

Mycroft shut the file and chucked it on his desk. "Anyway, you're safe now."

"Hmm."

"A small 'thank you' wouldn't go amiss."

"What for?"

Mycroft was so highly strung on his ladder of self-confidence, he didn't see the mistake he had made by bringing up Sherlock's escape."For wading in."

Raising a hand to stop the barber from shaving him, Sherlock sat up with a grunt of pain and glared at his brother.

"In case you'd forgotten, fieldwork is not my natural milieu." Mycroft continued.

"'Wading in'? You sat there and watched me being beaten to a pulp."

Mycroft frowned indignantly. "I got you out."

"No – I got me out. Why didn't you intervene sooner?"

"Well, I couldn't risk giving myself away, could I? It would have ruined everything." Mycroft hadn't wanted to seem too friendly in case Sherlock suspected the real reason of bringing him back.

"You were enjoying it."

"Nonsense."

"Definitely enjoying it."

Mycroft leaned in. "Listen: do you have any idea what it was like, Sherlock, going 'under cover', smuggling my way into their ranks like that? The noise; the people?"

Sitting slowly and painfully back in his chair, Sherlock decided arguing wasn't the best way to go if he wanted information. "I didn't know you spoke Serbian."

"I didn't, but the language has a Slavic root, frequent Turkish and German loan words. Took me a couple of hours." Mycroft shrugged in acceptance.

"Hmm – you're slipping."

Mycroft smiled tightly. "Middle age, brother mine. Comes to us all."

The door opened to reveal a sharply dressed woman with a dark suit and white shirt on a hanger for Sherlock to see.

**221A Baker Street**

John sat at Mrs Hudson's kitchen table, arms folded uncomfortably, waiting for a reaction. He flinched ever so slightly when Mrs Hudson slammed the small tray down in front of him. She continued to slam things down on the table until she had a cup and saucer, jug of milk and a plate of biscuits on the table. She finally slammed a sugar bowl on the table, but she hesitated and pointed to it. "Oh no – you don't take it, do you?"

"No." John couldn't really find the right words to say.

"You forget a little thing like that." Her voice full of anger.

"Yes."

"You forget lots of little things, it seems." She wasn't about to let it go.

"Uh-huh."

"Not sure about that." She pointed to her upper lip.

"Ages you." She added unhelpfully.

"Just trying it out."

"Well, it ages you." She wouldn't that go either.

John looked at her awkwardly. "Look..."

"I'm not your mother. I've no right to expect it..." She interrupted.

"No ..."

"...but just one phone call, John." Her anger immediately turned into sadness. "Just one phone call would have done."

"I know." He looked down.

"After all we went through"

John looked up at her. "Yes. I am sorry."

Mrs Hudson sat down at the table. "Look, I understand how difficult it was for you after... after..." She was unable to continue, she shook her head.

"I just let it slide, Mrs Hudson. I let it all slide. And it just got harder and harder to pick up the phone somehow." He sighed and looked away from the woman who had been like a second mother to him. He looked back. "D'you know what I mean?"

A silent understanding came between them and Mrs Hudson put her hand on John's arm in forgiveness. Offering his hand for comfort, he thought about the friend that was no longer with them.

**Mycroft's Office**

Sherlock, with dry, curly hair, stood in front of the mirror, tucking his shirt into his trousers, almost dressed.

"I need you to give this matter your full attention, Sherlock. Is that quite clear?" Mycroft wanted to sound convincing. He already had someone on the case, he wanted to see who would solve it first - he had no doubt that one of them would solve it, they were the best in Britain.

"What do you think of this shirt?"

"Sherlock!" All his acting efforts were being wasted by Sherlock's disinterest.

"I will find your underground terror cell, Mycroft." He briefly looked at his brother.

"Just put me back in London. I need to get to know the place again, breathe it in – feel every quiver of its beating heart."

"One of our men died getting this information. All the chatter, all the traffic, concurs there's going to be a terror strike on London – a big one." The woman who had brought him his clothes stepped forward.

Sherlock put his jacket on. "And what about John Watson?"

The other two occupants of the room gave each other looks of exasperation.

"John?" Mycroft didn't want to tell Sherlock about his friend.

"Mmm. Have you seen him?" Sherlock persisted.

"Oh, yes – we meet up every Friday for fish and chips." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. He handed Sherlock a file. "I've kept a weather eye on him, of course."

Opening the file, Sherlock glanced at the two surveillance photos of John.

"You haven't been in touch at all, to prepare him?"

"No." Sherlock replied, distractedly. He then noticed the the new facial feature John had acquired over the last two years. "Well, we'll have to get rid of that."

"We?"

"He looks ancient. I can't be seen to be wandering around with an old man." He closed the file and dropped it on the desk, only to freeze when he noticed a file that rested close to the top of the desk.

"What is this?" Sherlock went to pick up the file, but Mycroft snatched it before he could reach it.

"Operation Phoenix? Classified? Top Secret?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, curious. After an uncomfortable silence on Mycroft's part, Sherlock decided to guess. "It's thick and full of paper, suggesting it has been around for a long time, maybe just over two years? The file is well worn, which means you look at it a lot, which could mean two things: Either you have found yourself with a strong sentiment for whatever this file is about, or you have found something that intrigues you, and you can't quite solve the mystery - you won't give up on it. I am finding it more than likely that the latter is correct, seeing as this is you we are talking about, brother dear."

Mycroft knew Sherlock was right on both counts and assessed the situation, settling on subtly changing the conversation. "What has got you so interested?" He smirked for added effect. "Don't like it because some one knows something you don't?" Mycroft teased, turning away and promptly giving Sherlock the chance he needed.

Trying not to alert his brother, he carefully reached into the file and retrieved three pieces of paper, at random, and slipped them into his pocket.

"Middle age, making you careless." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"What?" Mycroft turned back round.

"Nothing." Sherlock smiled innocently.

"Mmm..."

**221B**

Upstairs, John stood in the doorway, looking into the room of his old flat. The room was dark, dust floated in the air and a thick layer coated most surfaces. Narrow beams of light steamed through the gaps in the curtains, providing the only light in the room. Mrs Hudson then pushed past, snapping him from his thoughts, and turned the light on.

"I couldn't face letting it out." She walked across the room and pulled the curtains open, coughing at the explosion of dust that erupted from the old fabric. "He never liked me dusting."

John turned around any looked at the kitchen. "No, I know."

"So, why now? What changed your mind?"

Taking a deep breath, John turned back to Mrs Hudson, and voiced the real reason for his unexpected return. "Well, I've got some news."

Mrs Hudson stared in horror. "Oh, God. Is it serious?"

"What? No – no, I'm not ill. I've, er, well, I'm ... moving on."

"You're emigrating." Mrs Hudson sighed.

"Nope. Er, no – I've, er ... I've met someone." He admitted.

Mrs Hudson giggled and completely misinterpreted. She walked towards him, clapped her hands and smiled. "Oh, lovely!"

"Yeah. We're getting married ... well, I'm gonna ask, anyway." John was nervous, he still hadn't proposed yet.

"So soon after Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson was now really confused.

"Well, yes."

Mrs Hudson smiled again and said, "What's his name?"

John let out a huge sigh. "It's a woman!"

"A woman?"

"Yes, of course it's a woman."

"You really have moved on, haven't you?" She laughed.

"Mrs Hudson! How many times ...? Sherlock was not my boyfriend." He was more than annoyed about the old assumption coming forward again, it was so frustrating!

"Live and let live – that's my motto." Her smile this time was cheeky.

"Listen to me: I am not gay!" He half shouted across the room.

**Mycroft's Office**

"I think I'll surprise John. He'll be delighted!" He had made the resolution to investigate operation Phoenix after he had solved his brother's request.

"You think so?" Mycroft smiled cynically.

Hmm. I'll pop into Baker Street. Who knows – jump out of a cake.

"Baker Street? He isn't there any more." Mycroft frowned at Sherlock's naïvety. "Why would he be? It's been two years. He's got on with his life."

"What life? I've been away." Sherlock paused and gave Mycroft a knowing look. "Where's he going to be tonight?"

"How would I know?"

"You always know."

"He has a dinner reservation in the Marylebone Road. Nice little spot. They have a few bottles of the 2000 Saint-Emilion ... though I prefer the 2001."

"I think maybe I'll just drop by."

"You know, it is just possible that you won't be welcome." Mycroft gave his final warning.

"No it isn't. Now, where is it?"

"Where's what?"

"You know what."

The woman appeared again, holding Sherlock's Belstaff coat, with the collar already turned up. Sherlock smiled and, turning round, slid his arms into the sleeves. Once the coat is in place, he readjusted the collar.

"Welcome back, Mr. Holmes." She smiled.

"Thank you ..." Sherlock turned to face Mycroft. "... blud."

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**I know it's a bit short, but the next chapter will feature my OC a lot more. Please PM, Review e.c.t**

**Till the next time! ;-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two - It's a Bomb!**

A woman sat at a piano, thinking about the weird occurrence in the London Underground last night. She had used her laptop to hack into the CCTV footage and she had checked all the maintenance tunnels, but there was no sign of anything that crossed that particular route.

Sighing, she sank into the soft cream carpet that lined her floor. She lay there, on her back for a couple of minutes. Deciding to let her frustration out, she nimbly jumped to her feet and sat down on the piano over the other side of the room.

When she had played a few songs, and was completely empty of emotion. She sat on the floor, pulled the maps towards her and began to rifle through the mountain of old papers.

After 15 minutes of continuous searching she finally found a newspaper article that showed a London Underground closing before it had been built because of 'legal disputes'. "Bingo!" She read the article, checked her watch and ran to get ready.

She dressed in her usual attire for the situation; black jeans, combat boots and leather jacket, arming herself with her three favourite knives, and her two pistols. She never left the house unarmed, especially when she was very close to finishing a case. She always found criminals were more suspicious and desperate when she was nearing the end of a case.

She then entered her garage and pulled out her motorbike. Within 10 minutes, she was entering a maintenance tunnel, inside Westminster Station. Now all she had to do was find it...

**Outside the station**

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson quickly rushed down the stairs to Westminster Station.

"So it's a bomb, then? A Tube carriage is carrying a bomb." John hurried to keep up with Sherlock's brisk pace.

"Must be." Sherlock supplied distractedly.

"Right." John reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock turned around and found his friend on his phone.

"Calling the police."

"What? No!"

"Sherlock, this isn't a game. They need to evacuate Parliament."

"They'll get in the way. They always do. This is cleaner, more efficient." Sherlock dismissed.

He then took a crowbar out of his pocket and forced into a gate which read: Maintenance.

"And illegal." John scowled.

"A bit."

Taking out torches, the ventured down the tunnel. John pulled his phone out again, and stopped when he realised they had no signal, and couldn't call for help if they needed it.

Sherlock didn't even need to turn around to know John had stopped. "What are you doing?"

John sighed. "Coming."

After nearly half an hour of searching, they found the old Sumatra Road Station.

Shining his torch down the track, Sherlock couldn't find the carriage they were looking for. "I don't understand."

"Well, that's a first!" John couldn't believe their current predicament.

"There's nowhere else it could be." Sherlock's brows furrowed in confusion and closed his eyes, concerntrating. In his mind he played out the situation in his head, the end result - Parliament exploding.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. "Oh!"

He ran to the end of the platform, John following close behind. "What?"

Sherlock carefully hopped off the platform and onto the tracks.

John was still on the platform. "Hang on. Sherlock?"

"What!"

"That's ... Isn't it live?"

Sherlock just turned around and continued to make his way down the tracks. "Perfectly safe as long as we avoid touching the rails."

"Course, yeah. Avoid the rails. Great!" John's voice was dripping with sarcasm as he too jumped down onto the tracks.

"This way."

"You sure?"

"Sure."

Turning around a bend, the missing carriage came into view. Sherlock looked up, and his theory was proved correct when he saw the large open vent, which was lined with explosives.

"John."

"Hmm?" He turned to look at his friend.

Sherlock shined his torch up to the hole at the explosives, where John quickly identified them, "Demolition charges."

Sherlock approached the carriage cautiously, shinning his torch underneath and around it. Coming to a sudden halt when he realised that all the light were on in the carriage. He gestured to John, telling him to keep quiet and follow him to the driver's cab.

Once inside, it's clear to the two men that they are not alone. Crouching down, they began to observe the goings on in the carriage.

A tall woman, with flaming red hair stood in the middle of the carriage, with her eyes closed, deep in thought. John made a move to get up, but Sherlock stopped him, wanting to see what would happen.

The woman's eyes snapped open and she immediately began to look around the sides and ceiling of the carriage. After thirty seconds of making her way around the carriage she found two wires, twisted together, disappearing down the side of one it the seats.

John grew more apprehensive. "Shouldn't we stop her?" He whispered.

"She's on our side." Sherlock's gaze hadn't left the redhead that occupied the carriage. "Just keep watching."

Finding what she was looking for, the woman started tearing open the seats to reveal bombs strapped to the underside of every seat. Coming to a stop in the middle of the carriage, she sharply turned around to face Sherlock and John, the latter only just making it down in time.

Thinking they had been spotted, Sherlock put his hand on John's mouth, and sent him a warning look.

The woman walked down towards their hiding place, but stopped and slowly started walking down to the other end again. She stopped only when she felt the floor creak. Bending down, she prised the compartment open to reveal a massive bomb. "Shit!"

Sherlock quickly signalled that now was the time to approach. The pair quickly stepped towards the woman, who was still examining the bomb. When they were a metre behind her, she spun into action.

After five seconds, three well aimed kicks, two vicious right hooks, and excellent pick pocketing skills, Sherlock found himself pressed against a pole, a knife of his throat, while John was handcuffed to another pole with his own handcuffs, on the floor, stunned. The woman didn't even seem out of breath.

"What are you doing and why are you following me?"

"Sherlock?" John opened his eyes and tried to rub his head. "What? Are these my handcuffs? How long have I been out?"

"Yes, they're yours, and you've been out of it for 5 seconds." Sherlock sighed, today was going to be one of those days...

"Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes?" The woman asked.

"The one and only!" He sighed again.

She released him and dumped him on the floor. She then quickly turned to John. "Where are the keys?"

John pointed to his jacket pocket. She quickly uncuffed him.

"I'm sorry about that, you can't be too careful, a terrorist did put this here." she gestured to the bomb.

"Mmm..." Sherlock tried to deduce her, but there wasn't much to go by.

John, on the other hand, had remembered the bomb and was now breathing very heavily. "We need bomb disposal."

"There won't be time for that now." The woman stated bluntly.

"So what do we do?"

"I have no idea." Sherlock admitted.

"Well, think of something." John snapped.

"Why d'you think I know what to do?" Sherlock defended.

"Because you're Sherlock Holmes. You're as clever as it gets."

"He does have a point." The woman spoke up from her position leaning against a pole.

"Oh shut up you, we don't even know who you are!" Sherlock shouted at the woman and then turned to John. "Doesn't mean I know how to defuse a giant bomb. What about you?"

"I wasn't in bomb disposal. I'm a bloody doctor." John countered.

"And a soldier, as you keep reminding us all."

"Can't-can't we rip the timer off, or something?" John suggested.

"That would set it off." Sherlock and the woman replied simultaneously.

"You see? You know things." John

Sherlock quickly spun round to look at the woman. "What do you know? Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you know about this?"

"None of those questions are good use of our resources." She dismissed.

"And why not!" Sherlock glared at her.

"We have 2 minutes and 43 seconds to live." She calmly replied.

Sherlock and John just realised that the timer had started to tick down.

"Er ..." Sherlock couldn't think of what to do next.

John started breathing faster. "My God!"

"Er ..."

"Why didn't you call the police?"

"Please just ..." Sherlock tried to think.

"Why do you never call the police?"

"Well, it's no use now."

The woman started tapping on the pole. John thought it was a nervous habit, but Sherlock pricked up his ears.

The timer now showed 2:15.

"So you can't switch the bomb off? You can't switch the bomb off and you didn't call the police."

Turning away from John for a moment, Sherlock grinned at the woman.

"Go, John. Go now. And you."

"There's no point now, is there, because there's not enough time to get away; and if we don't do this... other people will die!"

The timer was at 1:57 and the woman spoke up, "I think I might be off now, I've been as much use as I can, and I think my services are no longer required. Have fun." She sauntered out of the carriage, leaving a stunned Sherlock and John in her wake.

After 10 seconds of shocked silence, John pointed to Sherlock, who was sitting on the floor, humming a small tune."Mind Palace."

"Hmm?" He looked up.

"Use your Mind Palace."

"How will that help?" Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"You've salted away every fact under the sun!" John half shouted at his friend.

"Oh, and you think I've just got "How To Defuse A Bomb" tucked away in there somewhere?" The sarcasm obvious in his voice.

"Yes!"

**Outside the Houses of Parliament**

The woman sat on a bench, with her mobile phone out in front of her, watching the events in the carriage unfold before her, on the small camera she had planted there just before Sherlock and John had arrived.

Sending two quick texts, she relaxed and listened to the two men:

"Oh my God!" John had realised that Sherlock couldn't disable the bomb.

John moved to the other end of the carriage. "This is it."

"Um, er ..."

"Oh my God." John glanced at the timer which now showed 1:29 and groaned.

"I'm sorry." Sherlock's voice was soft. "I can't ... I can't do it, John. I don't know how." He stood up. "Forgive me?"

"What?" John's anger was evident in his voice.

"Please, John, forgive me ... for all the hurt that I caused you."

"No, no, no, no, no, no. This is a trick." John had entered denial.

"No."

"Another one of your bloody tricks."

"No." He repeated.

"You're just trying to make me say something nice." He accused.

"Not this time." Sherlock let out a short laugh.

It's just to make you look good even though you behaved like ..." John couldn't continue, trying to fight back the tears that were prickling his eyes.

"I wanted you not to be dead." John's breathing had quickened again.

"Yeah, well, be careful what you wish for."

John sighed.

"If I hadn't come back, you wouldn't be standing there and ..." Sherlock turned away to hide his grin. "... you'd still have a future ... with Mary."

"Yeah. I know." John turned back to look at Sherlock."Look, I find it difficult... I find it difficult... this sort of stuff. You were the best and the wisest man that I have known. Yes, of course I forgive you."

Squeezing their eyes shut tight, they braced themselves for death.

After a couple of moments, Sherlock laughed, unable to contain it any longer.

John's head snapped up at the sound coming from his friend, and looked at the timer, which was flicking between 1:29 and 1:28.

"You ..." John was fuming.

Sherlock looked up. Tears of mirth streamed down his face. "Oh, your face!"

"... utter ..."

"Your face!" Sherlock started laughing hysterically.

"You ..." John still couldn't put his anger into words.

Sherlock grinned. "I totally had you."

"You cock! I knew it! I knew it! You f-"

Sherlock interrupted him. "Oh, those things you said – such sweet things! I-I never knew you cared!"

"I will kill you if you ever breathe a word of this ..." John glared at him.

"Scout's honour."

"... to anyone. You KNEW!" He still couldn't believe it. "You knew how to turn it off!"

"There's an Off switch." Sherlock stated.

"What?"

"There's always an Off switch."

John kneeled down to look at the switch, that could only just be seen on the side of the bomb.

"Terrorists can get into all sorts of problems unless there's an Off switch." Sherlock continued.

"So why did you let me go through all that?" John growled.

"I didn't lie altogether. I've absolutely no idea how to turn any of these silly little lights off." Sherlock turned around when he heard the wallow talkie radio, coming from the three flashlight beams that were the police, coming towards them.

"And you did call the police." John added.

"'Course I didn't call the police. That woman from earlier called for me."

"Sorry?" John want sure if his ears were working properly.

"I said..." He suddenly stopped when he realised that the woman from earlier was probably far away by now. "Damn!" He ran out of the tube leaving John to run after him.

**The next day - 221B**

Sherlock stood in his bedroom, getting dressed with one hand, while Mycroft spoke from the other end of the phone he was holding.

"Sherlock, please. I beg of you. You can take over at the interval."

"Oh, I'm sorry, brother dear, but you made a promise. There's nothing I can do to help." Sherlock smirked into the phone.

"But you don't understand the pain of it – the horror!"

But I have just saved the British Government, it's now time for you to save your own skin." Sherlock countered.

"You and I both know that it wasn't you who worked out how to stop the bomb. The only reason your reputation is still intact, is because of your knowledge of morse code."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, and he sat on the bed. "How do you know that?"

Sherlock could tell Mycroft was smirking, just because of the tone of his voice. "It's for me to know, and you to find out." Mycroft ended the call, leaving Sherlock to retreat into his mind palace...

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**AN: Hope you enjoyed the second chapter! You can PM me, review e.c.t.**

**Hope you noticed our new character. What do you think of her?**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter three**

"Why are we here again?" John held a torch up for Sherlock, while he kneeled on the floor, picking the lock on what John could only describe as the back door of a fairly large house.

He had been about to make arrangements with Mary for dinner after she had returned from work, when Sherlock had dragged him from his and Mary's flat. He had only been able to offer a quick kiss on the cheek as she had walked through the door, before he had been dragged into the waiting taxi.

He shivered as another gust of wind hit him. They had left when the sun had been up and still fairly warm, but now that the sun had set, he was starting to get more than a little bit cold.

"I've already told you. Mycroft is up to something and the key to working it out is in this house!" Sherlock hissed from his position on the floor. He had finally read the paper he had retrieved from the file, but was only greeted with a list of addresses and dates, this house was the most recent, and, therefore, the most likely to be relevant.

With a final click, the door swung open, revealing a moderately sized kitchen, painted in creams and blacks. It was modest and not too big but had plenty of room and was clean, ready for use. Motioning for John to follow him, Sherlock crept out of the kitchen and down a hallway.

The first thing John noticed was the books. They were everywhere. From maps to classics, from science books to fiction, the whole hall was covered with books that were stacked haphazardly on the floor. He was sure there we enough books there for your own private library. It was rather strange and he couldn't help but wonder what they were doing breaking into this innocent, if a little strange, house.

Sherlock paid no attention to the books that seemed to be everywhere and crept further into the house, he turned a corner and stopped suddenly when he reached a living room. John was about to flick the lights on when Sherlock quickly held his hand up to stop him. "This isn't right."

John stepped towards him. "What?"

"Three candles have just been blown out, and I can smell..." He took a deep breath. "... Chlorine and... Something else, but the whole house is silent: it isn't right."

"But that could just be a coinci-" Before he could finish his sentence, he found the tip of a very sharp knife on his throat, and a hand tugging at his hair, keeping his head up. He could vaguely see Sherlock, but he had no idea who his captor might be.

"How did you find me?" The voice of a woman surprised him and brought him back to his senses.

John opened his mouth a couple of times before he began to speak."I-"

"I wasn't talking to you." She interrupted, pulling him up further. His neck was starting to ache.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "You can put him down, he's no threat."

"Exactly."

Sherlock couldn't see her face because the room was so dark, but he could tell she was about 5ft 8 or 9 because she was taller than John.

"I'll ask you again, how did you get this address?" She persisted.

"How else do you think the great Sherlock Holmes found out? He dug his nose in where it obviously isn't wanted." John's sarcastic voice rung out.

She quickly pushed John away and groaned. "I don't believe it! Again?" She brushed past the two boys and into what only could be described as a living room. She hopped over several piles of books, coming to a stop in front of a sofa, sunk down into the many adorning cushions and sighed.

Sherlock located the lights and flicked them on, only to be greeted with the sight of the woman from the tube from the day before... Wearing only a black silk dressing gown and with dripping wet hair.

"But..." John pointed at the woman, his mouth open.

"Why are you here? Why did you attack us?" Sherlock stepped forward.

"I would have thought a great mind like yours would have figured it out already." She received no answer. "No? Ok. I thought it was a perfectly rational response to attack someone who had broken into their place of residence, in the middle of the night, with a gun. I wasn't going to take any chances."

"How did you know he had a gun?" John didn't even know that Sherlock had brought a gun.

"His hand didn't leave his right pocket when he turned on the lights. He is right handed. You would think he would automatically remove his preferred hand, wouldn't you? Obviously indicating he has a gun that he wanted to keep hidden."

Sherlock cast his calculating gaze on the woman before him. She was tall for a woman, with long wavy red hair, that at the moment, was rather damp. She was currently wearing nothing except a thin, black, silk dressing gown evidently many sizes too big for her. He nearly cursed when he realised that because she had just come out of the shower, she had no marks of ink or any other medium on her skin that would allow him to deduce her occupation.

Turning around, he tried to get a good idea of who she was by his surroundings.

John coughed, drawing his attention again. He could ask Mycroft about her later, if he could just get her name.

"Please take a seat. You may have just broken into my house, but I'm not about to forget how to be a proper hostess." The woman pushed herself off the sofa started walking to the kitchen.

Sherlock quickly motioned for John to sit down while he crept to the kitchen door, that the woman had pulled shut when she had entered.

He pressed his ear up to the door and heard her speaking on the phone:

"I know, I was in the shower and I only had time to grab that impractical black dressing gown, and now they're sitting in my living room. Why didn't you warn me that he had obtained information from the file?"

Sherlock nearly cursed when he realised that he wouldn't be able to hear what the other person was saying, but he supposed the information he was getting was good enough for now.

"I don't care how sneaky he was, he is now in my house, with a gun that I'm sure he wouldn't hesitate to fire, and now he's going to start demanding information."

Sherlock could hear her preparing drinks rather aggressively and he smirked, she could definitely hide her temper well in front of him and John.

She sighed and seemed to calm down a bit. "I know, how much do I tell him?"

Sherlock frowned at that, what did she mean?

"But how much does he want to know? Oh, come on, you know him better than me! I've only read the file! You were even stupid enough not to include pictures in the file and I've already made the mistake of not knowing what he looks like."

She sighed heavily and said her goodbye, revealing that she would 'see' whoever was on the phone to her 'soon.' He quickly retreated to the living room, where John was waiting for him.

Less that a minute later, the woman returned with a tray of tea and coffee, where she made Sherlock and John their usual, without having to even ask.

"So..." John attempted to break the ice, but the woman interrupted him again.

"What is it that you want to know?"

Sherlock stood up, leaving his coffee untouched and began pacing around the cosy room. "I suppose you know why I'm here?"

"Naturally." The woman rolled her eyes.

"Actually, I don't. Could you please tell me what's going on, Sherlock."

Predictably, Sherlock ignored John and kept pacing. "I want to know what Operation Phoenix is and how you are involved with it."

"Mmm..." The woman folded her legs and bit her lip. "Shall we play a game Sherlock? I know how much you love them."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, before giving in. "Fine."

"I am going to answer one question of your choice with a question and we have to see if that clever little brain of yours can work out the answer for itself. How does that sound?" She grinned and gestured to the sofa opposite her, where John occupied one side.

Reluctantly, Sherlock sat down with a grimace and asked his most pressing question. "What is Operation Phoenix?"

The woman thought for a moment and asked, "What is a Phoenix and what does it do?"

Sherlock stood up and started pacing, but couldn't for the life of him remember that much about the bird as he would have liked. He didn't learn about mythical creatures because they were pointless.

He growled and resolved to look up what a Phoenix was when he got home. "Is that the only hint you are giving?"

"Yes." She replied, still smiling.

"Well I think we had best be off John, leave this woman to whatever she does." Sherlock shocked John, he had insisted on breaking into the house and had only received one riddle, and he was satisfied enough to just leave. He quickly drained his tea and leapt to his feet with a small wave to the woman, who's smile had faded and been replaced with a grimace. "Thank you for the tea." John offered with a smile. The woman immediately plastered a smile on her face and waved back.

John turned away without a glance back and failed to catch the frown that appeared on the woman's face as he dashed away in the direction John had gone.

The woman sighed. Sherlock would be back working tomorrow. She had better get some rest for the inevitably tedious day tomorrow.

* * *

**AN: I hope you liked the chapter even if it was a bit short. I've been finding it hard to start this part of the story from scratch and I want to apologise because this story will be updated very slowly.**

**I am aware that I've made quite a few mistakes in the last chapters and most likely in this one as well, but I will be going back to the story after it's finished everything.**

**Please review or PM me, whatever you feel most comfortable with and I will try to get the next chapter up relatively soon.**

**Don't forget to take a look at my Doctor Who story as well if you having already and I will look forward to posting the next chapter.**

**Bye! :-) **


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